


Origin of the Disembodied Reggae Space Voice

by shopgirl152



Category: Milo Murphy's Law, Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Humor, One Shot, auditions, catch the references, grins and giggles, there's no point to this story, voiceover auditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopgirl152/pseuds/shopgirl152
Summary: "Auditions?" Dakota tried to look stern, but ultimately failed. He had to fix the Pistachio Transporter, but on the other hand..."what auditions?""Auditions for the Disembodied Reggae Space Voice of course!" Phineas grinned, acting like the answer was obvious.





	Origin of the Disembodied Reggae Space Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Awhile back, someone on tumblr stated that everytime they hear Dakota speak, they think he sounds like the Disembodied Reggae Space Voice from Moon Farm. If that particular tumblr manages to stumble onto this story, I apologize in advance.

Dakota fiddled with the dial on the Pistachio Transporter. "Uh-oh."

"What do you mean 'uh-oh?" Cavendish echoed, annoyed.

"I think I set it for the wrong year." He banged a fist on top of the Pistachio cart. "It's stuck."

"Stuck?"

"Would ya stop repeatin everything I'm sayin? You sound like a parrot or somethin. I mean it's _stuck_. Frozen. The dial won't move."

"Nonsense." Cavendish swiped the remote from Dakota's hand, pointing it at the cart. Nothing happened. He frowned, checking several dials and knobs on the cart before trying the remote again. "It's stuck."

"That's what I'm _sayin_."

Cavendish frowned. "First the car, then the bike and now this." His gaze hardened. "This is unacceptable. Fix it!" He tossed the remote to Dakota, who fumbled it for a moment before getting a better grip.

"With what? What do I look like? A mechanic?"

Cavendish gritted his teeth. "If you would stop making jokes and take things seriously for once, maybe we wouldn't have these problems."

"Oh, so it's my fault?" The other man thrust both hands out, ready to strangle him. Dakota sighed in defeat. "Alright alright I'll fix it. Geez. Just give me a minute."

"You have exactly one hour." He checked his watch. "I'm going to get lunch."

"Great! Could you bring me back a breakfast burrito? I'm starvin." Dakota got down on his knees, checking underneath the pistachio cart. "Cavendish?" He popped his head out from under the cart at the lack of response. "Cavendish?" He rolled his eyes. "Great. There goes my burrito." He glanced around. "Where am I anyway?" He shieled his eyes against the blazing sun, squinting at a building across the street. "Phineas and Ferb Productions. Hmm...maybe they can help me." He walked across the street and into the building, immediately met with a flurry of activity.

"No no no! That's not the way ya do it!" A kid with a crew cut wearing a black t-shirt with a skull on the front of it yelled at another kid. "Irving, what did I say about being a gofer?"

"Go for things and don't ask questions?"

"Right. Now get me some Almond Brittle. Doctor Doofen-whatever his name is, is about to have a melt down. Do we _want_ another scarring backstroy?"

"No sir!"

"Then get moving!"

"But Mister Monogram, you have not learned your lines for this week yet!" Across the way, a kid in a pair of overalls with a high, squeaky voice and black curly hair chased after a man in a green shirt and pants. "You cannot go back to the agency until you have learned your lines! Wait!"

Dakota turned, his gaze falling to a reception desk. A girl in a pink dress and bow with long black hair sat behind it, answering the phone.

"Phineas and Ferb Productions, how may I help you?" she said in a sing-song voice. "Idina Menzel? Please hold." She pressed a button on the phone, switching to another line. "Phineas and Ferb Productions, Isabella Garcia-Shapiro speaking." A pause. "You want what? No, sorry, we don't do that.Thank you for the offer though. Have a nice day." She hung up, only to start. "Oh my gosh!" She snapped up the receiver, pressing a button. "Miss Menzel? Hi. Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry about that. Let me put you through to Ferb Fletcher. He's one of our casting directors." She pressed a button before hanging up, noticing the man in front of her. "Hello. I'm Isabella Garcia-Shapiro. Can I help you with something?"

Dakota raised a brow, his gaze shifting to the floor. A teal platypus skittered over, sniffed his shoes, growled and gave him the 'I'm watching you sign' before skittering off.

He pointed downward. "He's watching me."

"Who is?"

"The platypus."

Isabella followed his gaze and smiled. "Oh don't mind him. That's Perry. He's the pet of our casting directors. He doesn't do much."

"I'm telling you. He's watching me. He gave me the signal and everything." Dakota pointed two fingers to his eyes before pointing them toward Isabella, going back to where he started. "You know, that."

"Riight..." The girl shot him a dubious look. "Anyway, can I help you with something?"

"Oh, yeah, right. So, uh...I'm a pistachio seller and my cart broke down outside. I have a lot of hungry people to feed in the park, so I was wonderin if someone here would be able to help. By the way, what year is it?"

"Well, it's--"

"Technically it's 2011, but we're permanatly stuck in 2009 here." A boy wearing an orange and white striped t-shirt and blue cargo shorts emerged from a side door. A boy with green hair whose head was shaped like an F followed behind. "We won't age up for another ten years." He smirked, elbowing the other boy in the ribs. "Right Ferbs?"

The other boy rolled his eyes.

"So it's..."

"2011," the green haired boy answered. "That's the simple answer."

"I'm confused."

"Yeah, we get that a lot." The boy in the blue cargo shorts smiled. "I'm Phineas and this is my brother Ferb. Are you here for the auditions?"

"Auditions?" Dakota tried to look stern, but ultimately failed. He had to fix the Pistachio Transporter, but on the other hand..."what auditions?"

"Auditions for the Disembodied Reggae Space Voice of course!" Phineas grinned, acting like the answer was obvious.

"Ah, no. See, I was hopin ta get some help. See, I'm a pistachio seller. My cart broke down outside and I was looking for someone to help fix it."

"Well you've come to the right place. Ferb and I can fix it for you. We're both really good with tools."

"But you have to audition first," added Ferb, smirking.

"Actually Bro, after having a conversation with him, I'd say he's hired." Ferb shrugged and Phineas turned to Dakota. "What do you say Mister...?"

"Dakota. Ah, Vinnie Dakota."

"Mister Dakota, would you like to be our Disembodied Reggae Space Voice?"

"Aw gee, I don't know. I've never acted before."

"Oh it's just a voiceover for our next episode. No one will see you; they'll just hear your voice."

"So, what? I read a buncha lines or somethin?"

"Basically."

"How long will it take?"

Ferb smiled wryly. "How long do you have?"

* * *

"Okay Mister Dakota, are you ready to record?" Phineas sat in a control booth, eyeing the man behind the glass.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

"Great! You start and Ferb will sing Vanessa's lines. He's great at mimicking other singers."

Dakota read from the paper in his hand. "Ohh, dat's right! Houston we got a situation."

"Better stand by de phone."

"It's a brand new lunar taste sensation--"

"Served on a waffle cone! We got chocolate, vanilla--"

"But we don't have rocky road!"

"It's not that we don't like it--"

"We left the marshmellows at home. I blame Baljeet!" Dakota paused, eyes skimming the rest of the lines. "Ah, I'm sorry but I have ta ask: who's Baljeet?"

"He's a friend of ours. In this scene, he forgets to bring marshmellows to space."

"Space?"

"Long story." Phineas pressed a button on the control panel in front of him. "Baljeet will come in and record his lines later. So we'll just need to record your portion." He motioned to the paper in the man's hand. "Whenever you're ready."

Dakota counted three beats on his fingers before starting. "Well it was clearly your responsibility. Hey, I have a name you know. Well...it's--it's Disembodied Reggae Space Voice, but that's just a coincidence! You didn't know that! It's in the lyrics man!" He scratched his head. "Uh...was it supposed ta go like that?"

"Yep! Perfect! And that's a wrap!" Phineas opened the door to the sound booth, walking inside and wamly shaking Dakota's hand. "Thank you so much for the help Mister Dakota. Our fans will love it!"

"Hey, no problem. Fun way to spend an afternoon." He cast a glance in Ferb's direction. "One question though; how'd ya learn ta mimic other people's voices?"

"Method acting," Ferb deadpanned.

"Okay Mister Dakota, you're free to go." Phineas raised a brow when the man didn't move. "Uh, is something wrong?" Dakota dug something out of his pocket, holding it up. "Oh! That's right! We still have to fix your pistachio cart."

Dakota smiled. "Yes. Yes you do."

* * *

_One montage later..._

"Okay Mister Dakota, you're all set." Phineas scooted out from underneath the Pistachio Transporter, allowing Ferb to help him up. "We added new oil, gas and a fresh batch of pistachios." Ferb smirked, holding up a bag. "We also added some extra suspension. I don't know why, but for some reason, your cart's really beat up for everyday pistachio use. Almost like it's not used for that purpose..."

Dakota held his breath, waiting. Finally...

"Oh well, I guess it's nothing. The suspension could have been done in by going down a hill, or being run over a bunch of rocks."

He let the breath out.

"Or traveling through time," Ferb added nonchalantly.

Dakota's jaw hit the ground. "How did you--"

"You really outta be more discreet with the dials and knobs on the cart," Phineas explained. He pointed to three dials. "Day. Month. Year. No offense, but it's kind of a dead giveaway."

"Your remote being synced to it didn't help either," Ferb added. He handed the remote over, pointing to a PROPERTY OF sticker on the front. "Best be careful going forward."

"Thanks. I'll remember that." Dakota meekly took the remote from Ferb. "Ah, you're not gonna tell anyone, are ya?"

Phineas waved the comment away. "Your secret's safe with us. We won't tell anyone."

"Thanks."

"What you do owe us is pistachios," Ferb teased.

Dakota shrugged, motioning to the bag in the boy's hand. "Sure. Why not?"

"You know..." Phineas ventured. "Our friend Django told us there's an empty pistachio warehouse is Jefferson County. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"I'm sorry, but that information is highly classified."

"Oh well." The red head shruggd. "It was worth a try." He grinned. "Thanks again for auditioning Mister Dakota. I hope your pistachio cart works much better now."

"We best be off," Ferb added.

Dakota couldn't help smiling as the boys walked away. "Nice kids."

* * *

_Ten minutes later_

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" Cavendish ran into the clearing. "Why are you still here?!"

Dakota looked up from his phone. "Well I woulda looked for ya, but I didn't know where you went to lunch. Did you bring me back a burrito?"

Cavendish ignored the question. "Did you fix it?"

"Yeah yeah, I fixed it. Look." He rapped the hood of the cart and the dials sprang to life. "I also fixed the remote." He pointed the remote at the cart, shutting it off.

"Finally! Some good luck!"

Something clicked in Dakota's brain. "Hey, you know the Murphy kid that always thwarts our plans?"

Cavendish frowned at the mention of the boy's name. "What of him?"

"Well, what if he's bad luck and then...somewhere...there are kids that bring good luck? So ya know, everything around them goes right instead of wrong."

The other man seemed to think it over a moment. Finally...

"Absolutely not. That's a preposterous notion." He motioned to the cart. "Now get on the cart; we have pistachios to protect."


End file.
